“This is in English?” LoGuercio folded his arms across his chest as he waited for the answer.
“One of the reasons I got the job is that I had studied English in the liceo.”
LoGuercio’s arm snapped out, its fist catching the man in the chest. Donato lurched back and managed to keep his balance. His face showed surprise and fear. The driver kept his eyes on the ground.
“That doesn’t answer my question, Donato,” the policeman snapped.
“About half and half, Sir. The woman who was killed, Signora Van Fleet, she spoke Italian and wanted to use it. That annoyed the other two, especially Signora Linwood. I had greeted them in English so they knew I spoke it.”
LoGuercio nodded, as if nothing had happened, and his voice returned to its previous soothing tone. “After you showed them how to wash the dishes, you left?”
“That’s correct, Inspector.” He stole another glance at the window.
“Did you see them again?”
“The next afternoon. Even though the renters are given my cell phone number, in case there’s a problem, the owner wants me always to come by to be sure everything is to their satisfaction. Happy clients tend to come back the following year.”
“The women were there, I assume?”
“They were, but I only spoke with two of them. The young woman was sleeping.”
“And after that?”
“It was the last time I saw any of them, Inspector. I was planning on going over today. To offer my condolences, of course.”
LoGuercio shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t have contact with them just yet, Donato.” He handed him a card. “If that shower starts leaking again, call me and we’ll take care of it.”
As he drove back to the city, LoGuercio went over in his mind what the caretaker had said, and just as importantly, how he’d reacted to the questions. It was all just what he’d expected. He’d never questioned anyone in a murder case who hadn’t been nervous, so that part was no surprise. The bit of initial bravado, again, was nothing he hadn’t seen before in both suspects and innocent witnesses. He was concerned, of course, that Donato had no real alibi for the time of the murder. That just added him to the list of people, starting with the two American women, who couldn’t prove their whereabouts at the time of the murder. LoGuercio stared out the window of the car as it made the sweeping turn for the climb to the city.
***
When the Italian state was created in the nineteenth century, and Rome was selected as the permanent capital, a real estate crisis was created on the banks of the Tiber. Where would they put everyone needed to administer the new united Italy? A temporary solution was quickly found. The pope had refused to recognize the existence of this upstart new kingdom which had swallowed up what had been his Papal States, including Rome itself. When the pope went into voluntary exile in the Vatican, the new government acted. It took over hundreds of papal properties in the Eternal City, perfect for the offices of bureaucrats streaming in from all parts of the boot. It would be a temporary solution, to be sorted out when time permitted. A century and a half later, many of those buildings, including former monasteries and convents, were still filled with the desks of government workers. Ornate rooms inside those buildings, once used for prayer and reflection, now took on a different use. Speeches and discussion on decidedly non-religious subjects echoed through them under the gaze of haloed saints painted on walls and ceilings. Tucked in the back of those rooms, when the audience was international, were glass booths. Inside them toiled interpreters like Rick Montoya.
So Rick knew his convents, and as ex-convents went, this one in Orvieto was not that impressive, starting with the door. Even the portone to Rick’s apartment in Rome was larger. A rectangular brass plate, with words in both English and Italian, identified the building as the site of the university program. The only vestige of the structure’s former vocation was a cross carved into the keystone above the arched doorway. Rick was reaching for the handle when the door opened and two young men started to exit. When they saw Betta they stopped and gestured for her to come in, unabashedly checking her out as she passed.
“May I come in too?” Rick said in English, getting their attention. The two grinned and stood aside while he entered.
After passing a bulletin board covered with small and large scraps of paper announcing events around the city, they came to a corridor that stretched left and right. Ahead was an open area which might have been where the sisters in centuries past walked, quietly saying their rosaries. Today small groups of students sat on the patchy grass, chatting and laughing. One of them noticed Rick and Betta, got to her bare feet and walked to them.
“Can I help you find someone?”
She must not have noticed my cowboy boots, Rick decided, but was pleased the girl had used Italian. To encourage her, as he always did in such situations, he answered in the same language.
“Do you know if Professor Romano is here? We’d like to speak with him.”
“I think he is,” said the girl. “His office is the last one down the corridor on the right.”
They thanked her and walked in the direction she had indicated, passing one empty classroom before coming to a door at the end of the arched passage marked “Director.” Rick tapped on the door and a voice called from inside.
“Avanti.”
Rick and Betta exchanged glances and she walked first into the room. It was a spartan office, furnished with a wood desk facing the wall, a couple of chairs to one side, and a tall floor lamp which lit most of the ceiling but little below it. A single, high window did its
